


Discord and Rhyme

by Thoughts Like A Minefield (Incog_Ninja)



Series: SPN Kink Bingo 2019 [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crying During Sex, Dark Character, Dark Dean Winchester, Demon Dean Winchester, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, Rough Sex, Sexual Coercion, blood from rough sex, hand around the throat, mild choking, rough anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-23 18:50:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18707893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incog_Ninja/pseuds/Thoughts%20Like%20A%20Minefield
Summary: As a demon, Dean is more connected to his animalistic nature - hunt, eat, fuck.





	Discord and Rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> Square Filled: Scent Kink
> 
> Ship: Demon Dean x unnamed female character
> 
> Rating: Explicit
> 
> Tags: rough anal sex, crying during sex, blood during sex, there’s a lot of purple prose and excessive descriptions of taste and smell here, dub-con/sexual coercion, dirty talk,
> 
> Word Count: 1753
> 
> Written for @spnkinkbingo

Dean’s always appreciated the aesthetic of women. He likes the way they look and move, the way they taste and smell.

Not just the simple scent, though, not perfume or lotion or bath soap; he likes the way their natural scent lingers underneath it all, the way it changes with certain stimuli and what those changes imply. He likes peeling away the layers one at a time, savoring them. He likes the way this one melts into musk and earth when he licks along the side of her throat.

She tastes salty, a little bitter from the alcohol lacing her sweat, but the smell is all real – her skin and his saliva mix into a cocktail of pure want. He runs fingers and lips and tongue down and down between the plump of her tits. She’s all curves and flesh and breath.

“Hope you’re not too attached to this shirt,” he says as he yanks it open and buttons fly. She gasps and it’s a sweet wafting of rum and juice. “Or this.” Then he’s tearing at the lace of her bra. Her heart races, he can feel the beating under her breast bone and smell her adrenaline spike, heady and thick, mixing with the heft of damp earth from her under her skirt.

Dean softens his features to calm her and catches her panicked gaze. “Don’t be scared,” he soothes, brushing sweaty tendrils of hair away from her face. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

She smiles and relaxes a little, her eyes gloss over, and Dean grins. He takes her mouth, and her tongue tastes like sugar, she smells like rain on lilies. He licks into her mouth as he pushes what’s left of her shirt and bra out of his way to taste her flesh, her collarbones, her nipples, salt and cream and heat.

He picked her for a reason. He could smell her cunt from halfway down the bar. If she were a dog, they’d say she’s in heat, ready and wanting, pretty soon she’ll be begging.

Dean presses her back to the brick wall and holds her there, fingers wrapped over her shoulder, thumb curled around her throat. There’s an underlying implication there, one her humanity won’t consciously acknowledge, one only her animal side recognizes as “don’t even think about moving, bitch.” It thrills her nonetheless and there’s a fresh wave of that mossy heat from between her legs.

“Want me to fuck you?” Dean asks, thumbing her damp skin in small circles as his other hand slides under her skirt. He doesn’t waste time to cup her in his hand. “You’re so hot, baby,” he says, grinding his heel over her clit and curling his fingers around the crotch of her panties, rolling his knuckles along her slit. “Steaming and soaked like the jungle.”

He covers her mouth with his again and slips two fingers inside her. She’s tight, but it’s easy because she’s wet and he isn’t stopping anyway. “Say it,” he mumbles around her full lips, thrusting his fingers hard, and she squeaks.

“Anything you want,” she says, baring her throat and hoisting her foot up onto a stack of pallets next to them. “I’m gonna come.” She bucks into his hand and he watches, tightens his grip around her throat and picks up his pace to fuck her with his hand.

“Listen to that,” he groans as she clenches and gasps, legs open wide, skirt hiked up and shirt ruined, tits heaving. “You’re a fucking, filthy mess.” He jams another finger inside her and she comes loud and shivering.

Dean inhales deep. She didn’t quite squirt, but the beginnings of it are all there. She’s panting and her cheeks are red. He slides a wet middle finger up against her asshole, seeking entrance, and she gasps and tenses. “You said anything I want,” he says. He can’t wait to push his dick inside that same hole, hear her scream, smell her as she splits open for him, tart and bright.

He can’t wait to make her spray that brackish tang everywhere, juicy and wet and filled with shame for letting a stranger fuck her like a bitch over a wooden pallet behind a shitty bar. Can’t wait to smell her fear when he pins her face down against the splintering wood and tells her what he’s going to do.

“You smell so good, princess,” he whispers, inhaling her complex bouquet. “So good for me.” Once she’s bent over, he pulls her ruined panties down, pushes them to the ground with his boot. “Step out of ‘em, they’re done.”

She does as she’s told, whimpers. He pushes two fingers back inside her from behind, sliding the pads forward and pulling back, firm pressure all along her g-spot. “Gonna make you come again, get your ass nice and ready for me.”

She inhales sharply and jerks under him, and he pushes his hand between her shoulder blades, kicks her feet apart and rests his knees between hers against the pile of wood, effectively trapping her.

“I don’t,” she gasps. “Won’t it hurt?”

Dean chuckles. “Only for a minute, sweetheart.” He pushes a third finger inside her and she clenches around him. “But you’ll come so hard and so wet.”

Then he crouches between her spread legs, spreads her wider, licks between her cheeks, and she squeals. “That’s right,” he coos, hooking the tip of his thumb inside her ass and licking around the hole. “Fuck, I’m gonna eat you so good, baby, you won’t know what hit you.”

She slumps against the wood, defeated.

“You want it, too,” he mutters, nipping at her skin. “My mouth and my dick. You don’t wanna admit it ‘coz somebody told you it was dirty.” Dean groans at the change in her scent and posture as she moans.

“But, fuck, you smell like Sunday dinner – hot and spicy.”

He buries his face in her cheeks and pushes his pinky inside her pussy with his other three fingers. “You’re so full of me,” he groans as he licks and fucks her ass with his tongue. “Come on my hand so I can fuck this hot ass good.”

Dean smacks her hip, grips and smacks again and she’s coming in seconds, panting and worthless. He laughs lightly, drags all the wet and slick and heady scents from her front to her back hole, scoops it backward and pushes it inside one finger at a time, all the while he’s talking.

“You’re so tight.” He unbuckles his belt. “Gonna be so good.” Then he opens his pants. “Gonna come so hot and wet.” He cups the rest of what he can from her and coats himself with it. “Gonna squirt for me, princess.”

And then he’s pressing against her hole with the fat head of his cock. There’s resistance, obviously, but he couldn’t care. Actually, he does care – he likes it.

Dean presses down on the small of her back, keeps her legs open with his knees braced against the pallets and pushes. She gasps and shakes underneath him, but he keeps pushing and pulling, working his way inside her tight, tight heat.

His breath shakes. “There it is,” he whispers into the night air. The smell of iron and sea fills the air and he can’t get enough. He falls over her, heaving, grips her shoulder and slams inside her.

She chokes on a sob, and Dean buries his face in her neck. “Shh, shh,” he says, sitting still, deep inside her. “Just relax, sweetheart, relax.”

After a few breathes, after he’s synced with her and dried her tears, he rises once again. He spits long and slow as he pulls out just as languidly then spits again when he pushes in.

She whooshes a breath and turns to jelly.

“There you go,” he murmurs, making shallow slides, making her hiss and sigh. As he picks up momentum, her breath catches and releases, and she starts to moan.

“Oh, fuck,” she whines, pushing a hand between her legs.

“Good girl, play with that little clit,” Dean says, pumping her harder. “Want my fingers in there, too?” He’s jolting her against the stack of wood with every thrust, splinters abrading her bared skin, layering the sharp tang of iron.

He slides a hand around her middle and hooks two fingers inside her against her g-spot, slides in a third. “Ung, I can feel my dick pounding your ass, you like that?”

She whines and nods under him. “Hurts,” she whimpers. “Good.”

Dean laughs again. “That’s right,” he dips down to pull the shell of her ear between his teeth. “You like a little violence when you fuck, that’s good.” His breathing stutters as he squeezes her cunt in his hand, twists three fingers in her sopping hole and pounds her tight from behind. “Want you to let go. I’m gonna come in your ass when your spray for me.”

He’s out of his mind, and she’s crying again, tears of lust and pain. “God,” she sobs, rubbing the side of her clit that Dean isn’t owning. “God, yes.”

He feels her ripple then clench tight around his fingers. “Here it comes,” he says, broad, breathy grin floating.

She comes in waves of brine and earth and faint curl of smoke, sprays his hand and soaks the wood beneath her. Dean’s laughing still, gripping her hip with his wet hand as he spills deep inside her.

* * *

 

Dean crosses the state line at dawn. He can still smell her on his hands, in his hair, on his lips. He can taste her on his tongue. 

He gets a room, asks about local favorite food. The kid at the desk tells him the roadhouse has the best burger in three counties.

“How ‘bout the waitresses?” Dean asks with a smirk as he hands the kid a wad of cash.

The kid bristles and Dean remembers the easy charm he possessed as a human has been replaced with something darker. “Just kiddin’, kid,” he says before snatching his key. “Thanks for the tip, though.”

In his room, he showers and changes clothes before heading out. He drives the mile and a half to the roadhouse with his windows down to feel the cool breeze ruffle his drying hair. As he draws closer, he can smell it - burgers, bacon, toasted buns, french fries. And underneath it all, the wanting and willing depths of his next subjugation.


End file.
